“I need you to be able to defend yourself no matter what happens. You’re not the only one with bad dreams, you know.”
My lips part. “Xaden,” I whisper, sliding my hands to his face and scratching my palms on the stubble of his cheeks. “I’m a lightning wielder. I’m never defenseless against venin.”
“You’ll have to keep it hidden, of course.” His voice turns gruff. “Sew a deeper sheath into wherever you’re most comfortable.”
I nod. Right now, there’s almost no chance anyone could spot it unless it was facing outward or they knew where to look, anyway.
“Anything else we need to discuss?” he asks.
A grimace wrinkles my nose.
“Other than the battle of Zolya getting leaked in Battle Brief and Markham playing it off as propaganda?” My mouth twists.
He simply stares at me this time.
“Or the fact that Nolon’s spent months saving Jack Barlowe’s life?” I turn out of his arms, and we start walking toward the outpost with its burning torches along the outer battlements. “Oh, and Varrish punched my shoulder out of socket during interrogation after Dain refused to use his signet on me.”
Xaden stops.
“Don’t worry,” I say over my shoulder, tugging him along. “We escaped.
They tried using this new elixir on us that dulls our connections to our dragons and our signets, but I remembered how it smelled from land nav, so we avoided that one.”
“Signet-blocking elixir?” His voice rises.
“It’s fine. If I can get my hands on the solution, I can probably figure out an antidote.” I glance at him. “Or Brennan can.”
His gaze bores into mine. “What happened to us working on that whole communication thing?”
“I could make you ask questions for the information.” I flash a sarcastic smile. “Did I mention that Dain challenged me?” I’m definitely not asking about the ridiculous statement he dropped on me about my mother. Dain doesn’t deserve my headspace. “Shit, I should probably tell you about Aaric, too.”
Xaden sighs. “So much for option number two.”
There’s an odd hope that fills me as Tairn and I land on the flight field at Basgiath the next afternoon. Maybe it’s that I finally feel like Xaden and I are really, honestly trusting each other with more than just our bodies, even if he’s not giving me full access.
And his body is most definitely a perk. I’m deliciously sore from more than just the flight as I dismount Tairn at the edge of the field to avoid the incoming landings as First Wing goes through third-year maneuvers.
Shit, I should have slipped the dagger into my pack before landing. Dragons and their riders are everywhere.
“With all these dragons present, I have no doubt that Varrish and Aetos have been alerted to your return,” Tairn warns me.
“I’ll face my punishment,” I respond, scratching the dull scales of his chin. “You need to hydrate. You’re all dried out from the flight.”
“Our departure was more my fault than yours. I will not stand for you to bear my punishment.”
“Stop being sweet. It’s disturbing.” I pat his scales one more time and heft my bag higher on my shoulder. “It’s been a couple of weeks. Do you think Andarna will wake anytime soon?” I miss her.
“There’s no way to tell,” he says quickly. Too quickly.
Suspicion finds home between my brows. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
“Every adolescent enters the sleep for whatever amount of time their body needs. Hers apparently requires more than most.”
And until the last couple of weeks, she’s been waking up every time I’m distraught. Fuck. “Should I worry?”
“Worrying changes nothing. She is guarded by the elders and is sleeping safely.”
Hmm. “I’ll tell you if my punishment includes death or inconvenience.”
“I will already know, as I am continuously with you,” he grumbles. “Forced to bear witness to the awkwardness that is twenty-one-year-old humans.”
“I’ll strive to make it less awkward.”
“Could you do so, I would think you would have done it already.” He waits until I walk in front of him, heading for the stairs by the Gauntlet, and then he launches, his wings gusting wind at my back.
I can’t help but look to the left as I descend the steps. Our squad is practicing the deadly obstacle course that cost Trysten his life while we were in interrogation practice.
Aaric and Visia have already made it to the top—no surprise there—but the others are struggling. I have yet to learn any more of their names, but so far, we’ve only lost two.
Sloane bites her lower lip as she watches a girl with blue-black hair fumble along the spinning log on the fourth ascent…and fall. My heart lurches into my throat, but she grasps one of the vertical ropes along the course.
“Take that one at a run,” I tell Sloane as I walk by. “Hesitate and you’ll fall.”
“I didn’t say I need your help,” she mutters back.
“Your brother won the Gauntlet patch last year. No one expects you to fill those shoes, but try not to die, will you?” I say over my shoulder, not bothering to stop. It’s not like she’s going to let me help, and I can’t save her from this. She’ll make it or she won’t.
Fuck, I feel like Xaden of all people.
“You’ve angered the leadership, Sorrengail,” Emetterio says as I approach, the sun reflecting off his freshly shaved and oiled head.
“It couldn’t be helped,” I say quietly, pausing at his side.
He glances sideways at me. “I do not have favorites. That would be foolish in this place.”
“Noted.”
“But if I did.” He lifts his forefinger at me. “And I’m not saying I do. But if I did, I would suggest to that favored student that she stresses the undimmable bond of her legendary battle dragon and forgets any mention that perhaps strengthening her mental shields could have saved her from such a rash decision when it came to departing without leave.” He lifts both of his dark brows at me. “But, I would also hope that another favored student—were I to have such a thing—would be teaching you stronger shield techniques so it doesn’t happen again.” His gaze drops to my collar, where there’s a single silver line of lieutenant’s rank.
“I get the point.” A smile curves my mouth. “Thank you for caring, Professor Emetterio.”
“I never said I did.” He turns his attention to the Gauntlet, where Sloane has just crossed the fourth ascent.
“Right. Of course not.” I grin as I walk away, taking the rocky path to the quadrant, then fight the fear of my upcoming punishment. If Varrish tries to kill me, I’ll fight. If he wants to torture me, I’ll deal with it. Or maybe I should go straight to Panchek?
The path is crowded as another squad passes by for their turn at Gauntlet practice, and I stop stressing about stashing the dagger in my bag. At this rate, I’ll make it to my room without anyone seeing the alloy-hilted dagger.
By the time I reach the second-year floor, I’ve gone through about a dozen different scenarios of how to turn myself in.